


tu confido—me confidas

by caityjay



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Tension, Bottom Iron Bull, Canon Compliant, Dorian Being Dorian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rope Bondage, Spoilers for Demands of the Qun, Top Dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caityjay/pseuds/caityjay
Summary: Dorian hasn't seen the Iron Bull since they returned from the Storm Coast—his Chargers intact, his ties to the Qun less so. Dorian has convinced himself that this doesn't bother him, and is none of his business. Indeed, he would likely have avoided Bull indefinitely if the Inquisitor hadn't informed him that Bull had been attacked by his former comrades. Concerned despite himself, Dorian goes to check on him. Bull asks a favor: that Dorian take a turn tying him up for a change. Uncertain at first, Dorian finds he is willing to help someone he has come to (reluctantly) care about.





	tu confido—me confidas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 [Adoribull Mini Bang](http://adoribullmb.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr (my first ever bang)! 
> 
> Art by [Joy](http://nim-lock.tumblr.com) can be found [here](https://boldly-coming.tumblr.com/post/165284185293/)! :D
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to my perfect and beautiful beta, [MissMegh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmegh) ♥

It was rare that Dorian felt distracted from research, but this morning he couldn’t seem to focus on ancient Tevene. Josephine had skillfully plucked this copy of the Libreralum from the greedy hands of the Grand Archivist in Minrathous, and Dorian had been thrilled to get his hands on it. It was fascinating, certainly, but the ties Dorian sought leading to the true name of Corypheus were eluding him.

Sighing, he sat back in his chair, and let his gaze unfocus on the open tome and scattering of parchment on the small desk in his library alcove. If he were truly being honest, Dorian would admit that he hadn’t been able to focus properly since he’d returned with the Inquisitor’s party from the Storm Coast a few days ago. If he was being even more honest—and frankly more introspective than was particularly comfortable—he might even admit that it bothered him that he hadn’t spoken with the Iron Bull since they’d returned.

But Dorian was not being honest, and thus determined it must be frustration with the text that was causing his distraction.

“You certainly look busy.”

Dorian started. Lavellan was leaning against a shelf a mere pace in front of his desk, arms crossed, looking down at him with amusement.

“Well,” he said, shuffling some parchment on the desk in an attempt to recover his dignity, “the secret identities of evil undead magisters aren’t going to discover themselves.”

Lavellan made a noncommittal noise; she wasn’t impressed. Dorian couldn’t blame her—he hadn’t been that impressive.

“You seen Bull recently?”

That brought him up short. Why would she bring _him_ up? Did she _expect_ Dorian to have seen Bull? Perhaps they had an _arrangement_ —and there was certainly little chance anyone in Skyhold didn’t know about it at this point—but Lavellan wouldn’t outright ask about _that_ . So what _was_ she asking about?

“Not… recently, no,” Dorian said, not looking up from the open tome on his desk. “Why do you ask?”

“He was stabbed earlier this afternoon.”

Dorian’s head jerked up. “What?”

“A couple of _Ben-Hassrath_ infiltrated the guard. One got in a swipe with a poisoned blade before Bull tossed them both off the ramparts.” Lavellan just kept looking at Dorian, telling her tale as though reciting her shopping list. “I thought he might have passed by on his way to report to Leliana.”

Dorian finally broke out of his shock. “Report to Leliana? He was stabbed with a _poisoned_ blade?”

“Apparently he’s been expecting them.” Lavellan shrugged, blithely continuing past any objections Dorian might have thought to include. “He’s been taking antidote since we got back from the Storm Coast. Said he’d be fine. That the attack wasn’t even really a hit, more of a warning. Like…” she hesitated, displaying her discomfort for the first time since she’d appeared, “some sort of ceremonial letting-go, I suppose.”

She looked guilty. Certainly she felt guilty, Dorian thought; the Iron Bull had looked to Lavellan to make a decision Dorian thought really could only be fairly made by Bull himself. There was no perfect outcome. Even so, if you asked him, Dorian believed it was clear she’d made the better choice. Not that anyone was asking him.

“Is… is he all right?”

Lavellan looked at him, and he forced himself to hold her gaze.

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”  


* * *

  
Curse Lavellan. Curse the Iron Bull, curse the _Ben-Hassrath_ and the Qun and everyone involved in this entire bloody fiasco. Dorian had managed to wait all of half an hour before shuffling his papers off to one side of his desk and attempting to appear nonchalant on his way to the Herald’s Rest. He’d thought to perhaps have a drink and sit for a while before casually making his way up the stairs to knock on Bull’s door.

Alas, the moment Dorian passed through the door into the tavern, he was hailed by Stitches, the self-appointed medic of the Bull’s Chargers.

“Dorian,” he called, “you do it. He listens to you.” Dorian stood stunned as Stitches shoved a bundle of something into his hands. “He’s being stubborn. Get him to put on the salve, too.”

So now Dorian stood before the Iron Bull’s door, a bundle of bandages and a pot of salve in his arms, with no hope of retreat. He briefly considered escaping out through the ramparts, but shook himself out of that cowardly thought. With a deep breath, he knocked.

“I told you, I’m fine,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“My apologies,” Dorian said, “but I don’t think they’re going to let me leave without seeing you.”

After a short shuffle, the door opened. “Hey, sorry about that.” The Iron Bull looked down at the bundle in Dorian’s arms and shook his head. “Stitches is overreacting. Come on in, Big Guy.”

It wasn’t the first time Dorian had visited Bull’s bedroom, but it was certainly vying for a spot as the most awkward. He stood in the doorway for a moment, holding the bandages, Bull settling back down on the edge of the bed. Dorian considered taking a seat in the chair, but thought better of it. He moved to the bed and placed the bundle next to Bull, where it rolled slightly into the dip he made in the mattress.

He stood for a moment, Bull silently and without prompting taking the little pot of salve from the pile of bandages and beginning to smear it onto a small gash in his abdomen.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he scrambled to think of why he’d said it.

Bull grunted. “What about?”

“I…” What about, indeed. _I’m sorry I’m an insensitive ass_ ? _I’m sorry you were stabbed and poisoned_ ? _I’m sorry you had to become_ tal vashoth? “I was… tactless. On the Storm Coast. I may not agree with many tenets of the Qun, but… it was important to you. And I’m sorry.”

Bull looked up at him for the first time since he’d opened the door. He nodded slowly. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s… well.” He went back to dressing his wound, but patted the mattress next to him. Dorian sat, if still somewhat carefully. “It’s not perfect. But it’s what I’ve known. The Qun has been there for me when I needed it. Thinking about life without it is… pretty tough.”

Dorian considered this quietly for a moment. “I’m not sure I can imagine that,” he said, not sure if he meant losing it or ever having had it in the first place.

Without prompting, Dorian reached for a bandage and helped Bull wrap it around his torso. The wound hadn’t actually looked too severe, and Dorian was certain Bull had cleaned it properly, salve or no salve; a pitcher and basin sat on the small table beside the bed, along with a small pile of used rags. It seemed he was just not in the mood to entertain his friends’ ministrations. It made Dorian wonder what he was doing here himself.

The silence grew slowly more comfortable as Dorian tied off the bandage, and they sat relatively companionably for a little while. After a time, Bull cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh… I was thinking.”

Dorian waited for a moment to see if he would continue. When he didn’t, he considered a number of witty responses, but discarded them. “Yes?”

“I’ve been… I’m trying to figure out this shit, y’know. In Par Vollen, you got this fucked up, you’d visit a _tamassran_. They have… y’know, techniques. Get you out of your head, back into the world, you know.” Bull sighed. “Anyway. You know sometimes we’ve tied you up? I was thinking maybe I could show you some things to do on me.”

Dorian stared, feeling his face heat against his will at Bull’s bluntness. “You… want me to tie you up?”

Bull shrugged. “Yeah. Nothing fancy, just… it helps to… get me grounded.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Playing the role of _tamassran_ wasn’t something he and Bull had addressed before. And what he was asking for was different than just playing. “I… I’m not sure I want to try to fill that place, Bull.”

Bull shook his head. “No, not like… gah.” He shifted, then turned his head to look at Dorian properly. “I’m _tal vashoth_ , now. I don’t have the Qun to give me purpose. I don’t need it, I know that. But I don’t _know_ it. I just gotta… it helps me figure out my shit. You don’t have to, you know that, only if you’re okay with it.”

“So…” Dorian said, “it sounds almost like a kind of meditation, is that right?”

“Sure, yeah.”

Dorian considered this. He looked down at Bull’s abdomen. “And it would be safe for you, in your condition?”

Bull snorted and slapped Dorian on the back. “Don’t you worry about that, Big Guy.”

Dorian was familiar with the small, dented chest Bull went to, as well as the long coil of red rope he took from it. He was still uncertain about being the one doing the tying, however. As he took the coil, Bull laid his large hand gently on top of his.

“You can say no, you know,” he said. Dorian shook his head.

“No, it’s all right. I’d like to.” His lips quirked, “It’ll be fun. Switch things up a bit.”

Bull returned the smile. “Exactly.”

Dorian took the rope and stood, Bull taking his place at the edge of the bed. Bending gingerly to remove his knee brace, he glanced up at Dorian and quirked an eyebrow. “You wanna keep your clothes on?”

Dorian blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. Bull so often went half-naked that it barely made a difference if he had his trousers on while tying Dorian up, and it was a simple matter to get out of them if the need arose. “You won’t be, I assume.”

“Nah,” Bull confirmed. “Kinda gets in the way.”

“Of course.” Well. He could at least remove some of the more elaborate pieces of his costume. Dorian had never really felt shy about undressing with Bull; everything about this situation seemed different than usual, somehow.

Pushing aside his frustration, and setting aside the heavy hank of rope, Dorian began to unbuckle his jacket. He stood in his shirt and breeches and watched Bull stuff pillows behind his back. He had already been half undressed when Dorian had arrived, and it had taken him less time to rid himself of his brace and ridiculous trousers than it had taken Dorian to remove his outer layers, so Bull was already naked and positioning himself expertly on the bed.

Dorian watched a moment longer, decided to remove his shirt after all, and, having laid it neatly atop the pile of his other clothes, once again took up the length of rope. He thought he recalled how Bull usually started his ties, so he ran the length out between his hands, finding the center and making a loop there.

“Good,” Bull said. He was looking at Dorian, now, seated comfortably on the edge of the low bed, a pile of pillows at his back. He reached out his hand to Dorian. “Come here.”

Something curled in the pit of his stomach as Dorian stepped forward, taking Bull’s whole, right hand and allowing himself to be drawn up to straddle his lap. He couldn’t identify it, not even to decide whether or not he liked it. But it wasn’t enough to stop him from following Bull’s guidance as he led the hand that held the loop of rope around his back.

“Start here,” he said, his voice low and soft. Dorian drew in a deep breath; Bull had already begun to sink into whatever meditative state he planned to spend this activity in, Dorian could tell. That was all right, though, he told himself as Bull continued to guide him, with his hands and his words, wrapping the long rope around his wide, barrel chest. His own breathing deepened as his hands smoothed over the ropes, straightening their lines, pulling them taut against rough, grey skin.

This was less difficult than Dorian had feared; Bull had used similar techniques often enough on Dorian in the past that his gentle prompting was sufficient to guide Dorian through the familiar winding and looping of the rope into the binds he had become used to. That realization sparked another odd feeling in his gut, but Dorian worked past it as he wound the rope up and over Bull’s shoulder as he’d been instructed, drawing the length under the band that had been created across his chest. Their bodies were so close, Dorian felt Bull’s shudder in his own chest.

“Is this all right?” he asked, pausing the movement of his hands and looking up to meet Bull’s eye.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “‘s good. Now bring it around and pull it through here, that way…”

Dorian continued to follow Bull’s instructions, twisting the rope over, under, over his other shoulder, around to his back where they’d begun. Their chests pressed together as Dorian reached behind Bull to secure the rope; vibrations ran through his neck and cheek and torso as Bull rumbled his direction; the pace of their breath fell into sync. Dorian felt Bull’s hands brush softly up his back and come to rest there. For a moment, he let his head rest against Bull’s neck, arms wrapped tightly around Bull’s chest, breathing.

He pulled the knot tight and drew away. Bull’s hands stayed at his waist, squeezing gently until Dorian looked up at him. “You still good?” he asked.

Dorian quickly shook his head. “Yes, yes, of course. I just… got a little caught up, I suppose.”

Bull’s scarred face twisted in a smirking grin. “That is kinda the point.”

Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well,” he said, having no better response. He looked down at Bull’s chest and stroked his hands over the harness he’d created with a mixed feeling of lust and pride. “I’m not sure why I’ve still got my breeches on,” he said, bringing the conversation back to a topic he was comfortable with. “Give me a moment?”

“Sure,” Bull said, releasing his hold on Dorian’s waist and shifting back into the pillows. “Grab another couple hanks of rope while you’re up.”

“Oh, we aren’t done?” Dorian quipped, stripping his breeches and tossing them onto the pile. “I thought perhaps I’d head downstairs, grab a drink, mingle with the tavern patrons, you know.” He picked two more red coils of rope from the chest (there was a great pile of them—Dorian could only imagine what Bull did with them all) and turned back to the bed.

Bull looked… relaxed, surely, yet also… content. He was leaning back on his hands in a way that drew back his shoulders and accented his chest. His hardening cock rested on the soft part of his belly. He had a soft smile on his face. Dorian could almost forget everything that had happened, could almost pretend nothing was different.

“Hey, just say the word,” Bull said. “Though I’d appreciate it if you let me loose, first.”

Dorian shook his head, his expression softening with a smile. “You know I’m teasing.” And even though that was true, he’d noticed Bull stiffen ever so slightly at his suggestion. It was a clear sign of distress that Dorian had noticed a difference at all; the Iron Bull had expert control of his expressions. Dorian often envied that control. But he felt that now, perhaps, was an opportunity to let go of it for a while. Maybe that was part of what Bull wanted from this exercise.

“And you know I’m serious.”

“I know.” Dorian tossed one bundle of rope onto the bed and began to uncoil the other, openly admiring the image Bull was presenting as he did so. He smirked. “But I’m finding I rather enjoy being on this side of things. That is, of course, assuming _you_ still want to continue.”

Bull laughed. Dorian liked when Bull laughed; it was always loud and free and _real_. “Hell yeah I do,” he said, reaching out to beckon Dorian towards him. “Been a while since I trusted someone enough to do this.”

Dorian froze mid-step. Bull watched him closely, clearly waiting to see how Dorian would react. The truth was, Dorian wasn’t sure how to respond. Bull trusted him. Did Dorian trust Bull? Of course he did—Bull had used these same ropes on him before, a number of times. But this…

This was, as Dorian had certainly noted many times already this evening, different.

Bull had dropped his hand onto his lap and shifted forward a bit, watching Dorian with his one good eye. Dorian felt a brief moment of panic; Bull expected him to respond, he was waiting for a reaction, Dorian needed to react, what should he say? He had to think of something, change the subject, ease the tension that had drawn between them like a tether, near to snapping.

Dorian drew in a breath, making to speak, whatever came to mind ( _anything_ , just _say_ something, end this blighted silence), when he saw it. Or really, if he was being honest, he had only now allowed himself to see it. And maybe this time, Dorian could be honest. If not with himself, then at least with Bull.

The expression on Bull’s scarred, grey face wasn’t merely expectant. It was accepting. Dorian wondered when he’d learned to read the Iron Bull’s face, then thought it more likely that Bull was purposely allowing him to read him. He wanted Dorian to see him. He wanted Dorian to know… what? That he trusted him, he supposed, as he’d said. And also… that he cared. Dorian was reminded of all the times Bull had reminded him that they could stop, that he could say no, that he could change his mind and it would be all right. Had he ever truly believed that? That he could step back, that he could deny the Iron Bull something that he wanted, and that there would be no consequence?

He believed it now.

Dorian blinked down at the rope in his hands, surprised to find his eyes were wet. He cleared his throat, and looked back up at Bull.

“I trust you, too,” he said. Well. He had been telling himself to say whatever came to mind.

Bull smiled. It did something to Dorian’s insides that he decided he liked, after all.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning again. Dorian closed the distance between them and brushed a hand up Bull’s thigh. It felt good, touching him. It felt right. “Gonna have you do my legs before you do my hands.”

Dorian frowned. “Is that all right?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah, I won’t let you hurt me, Big Guy. Let out that rope, I’ll show you where to put it.”

Dorian hesitated, but loosened the bundle of rope and let the length fall to the floor, finding the center and following Bull’s guiding hand to begin wrapping it around his right thigh. He trusted Bull. That meant he trusted him to know his own limits as well, and to tell Dorian if they were breached.

Slipping into the trance-like state of wrapping and looping, twisting and tightening, touching and breathing was easier this time, and Dorian let himself embrace it. Bull had experienced a great loss, and had asked Dorian to help him work through that loss. It seemed like a great responsibility, and perhaps it was, but Dorian found that he wanted to take it on. That perhaps the real reason he’d been avoiding Bull since the Storm Coast was that he hadn’t liked to see him hurting, but now it was all right, because he could help ease that hurt.

When Bull directed Dorian to tie the rope he’d bound his leg with into the chest harness Dorian had already created, Dorian raised his eyebrows, but complied. He tugged gently, drawing Bull’s right knee up towards his chest.

“Is that all right?” Dorian asked, pausing.

“Yeah,” Bull grunted. “A bit tighter… that’s good.”

Bull was still using his hands and arms to brace against the bed, but he stopped Dorian as he reached for the last hank of rope.

“Let’s do my hands, next,” he said. “The other leg is the same; think you can do it without me?”

Dorian nodded. “I think so. It’s simpler than I expected.”

“Variations on a theme, Big Guy,” Bull chuckled. He shifted to his left side, careful not to disturb the bandage on his waist, and drew his arms behind his back. “Can you get back there?”

Dorian climbed up on the bed, mounting the pile of pillows and shifting a few out of the way.

“Keep track of those,” Bull said, smirking. “We’re gonna need ‘em, later.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, we are, are we?”

“Why do you think I have them all?”

Dorian smiled. He found the trailing end of the first rope and began winding it around Bull’s wrists. Bull talked him through the simple tie, Dorian drawing his wrists up until Bull told him to stop, securing them to the harness. He smoothed his hands over Bull’s wide, grey shoulders and leaned forward.

“I’d be careful,” he murmured, “I could get used to this.”

“That wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Bull said, pressing gently back against Dorian. “Glad you like it.”

Dorian hummed, shifting from behind Bull and filling the empty space he left with pillows. He moved to face Bull again and retrieved the last coil of rope from the bed.

Bull had leaned back to rest on the nest of pillows and was drawing his free leg up onto the mattress. “Help me out with this one?”

Dorian couldn’t help but pause for a moment to take in the image Bull presented. Binding his arms behind his back further accentuated his broad chest, and his drawn-up knees spread his thighs, accentuating even lovelier features. Dorian smiled.

He helped maneuver Bull’s bad leg into a comfortable position and braced it against his shoulder as he repeated the tie to hold it in place. The fugue of their proximity came over him again, this time bringing with it the more familiar warmth and rush of arousal. Bull truly was a marvel. Dorian flushed with lust and pride as he stood between Bull’s raised legs and looked down on his work.

“How is that?” he asked, his voice low with arousal.

“Good.” Bull tipped his head back into the pillows. “Real good.”

Dorian knelt slowly between Bull’s legs. He was finding it difficult to break contact with Bull; he stroked his hands up and down his thighs, around his buttocks, over his hips. He gave in to a sudden desire to lean forward and place a kiss on Bull’s sternum.

He looked up to see Bull’s single eye closed in a clear expression of contentment.

“May I take you?” As soon as he said it, Dorian felt panic rise up in him. Bull opened his eye and looked down at him, eyebrows raised. _Kaffas_ , he’d ruined everything, what had he been thinking? In all this time, he’d never fucked Bull before, and now was certainly not the time to be introducing yet another new element into whatever it was their relationship was supposed to be. He opened his mouth to take it back, but was interrupted.

“Yeah. Yeah, Dorian. If you want to, that… I’d really like that.”

Dorian knelt for a moment with his mouth open, processing what was happening. When his brain finally caught up, he laughed softly at himself. “I really think I do. Want to, that is.”

Bull huffed a little laugh of his own, but he was too melted into the pillows for it to have any bite. Dorian stood, finding it hard to look away from Bull as he reached into the bedside table for the jar of oil they kept there. He found himself swallowing around a lump in his throat. When he looked up, Dorian’s eyes locked with Bull’s.

“I…” he had to swallow again before he continued, but he did continue—this was important, and Dorian wanted to say it. “I’m glad you asked me to do this.” _I’m glad that you trust me._

Bull’s smile made Dorian melt even more than he already had. “I am too, _kadan_.”

 _Kadan_. Dorian knew what the word meant, or at least had an idea from what he’d read in his books. But the way Bull said it was different. Then again, everything the Iron Bull did was different, wasn’t it. Dorian smiled.

He popped the seal on the jar of oil, tipping a handful into his palm and stroking himself lightly as he gazed down at the display he’d created. Warmth spread up his chest and tingled down his back, pooling in his belly. Bull looked more relaxed and content than Dorian could remember ever having seen him before. He’d done that. Dorian had been here for Bull when no one else could reach him.

Dorian’s breath hitched, and he let it out with a laugh. Bull quirked a questioning brow at him, but Dorian shook his head. “Later,” he said. “Now, I’d like to partake of this delightful offering.”  


Bull rumbled appreciatively and leaned further back into the pillows. “All yours, Big Guy.”

Dorian couldn’t restrain his grin as he approached Bull, pouring more of the oil into his hands and letting it drip down between Bull’s spread thighs. His thick cock lay fat and purple on his belly, and twitched as oil trickled down around his balls and down into the crack of his buttocks. Dorian leaned forward, sucking in a hard breath as he slid his own oiled cock into that space, pressed his body down against Bull, abandoning the jar on the mattress.

He raked his hands over Bull’s chest, felt it vibrate as he growled and breathed. They breathed together. Dorian breathed with Bull, their bodies rocking together, pulling away, only to come back closer than before. Dorian only realized he’d closed his eyes when they opened. He watched Bull’s face, head thrown back in bliss, as he slipped one hand down between them.

Bull’s whole body heaved against his restraints when Dorian squeezed gently on his balls. Dorian reveled in it. He couldn’t believe they’d never done this before; Bull clearly enjoyed being on this end of things, and Dorian had never realized how good it felt to cause reactions like this in a partner. He was grinning again as he stroked Bull’s entrance with an oiled finger.

“I don’t know how you like it,” he said, his voice velvet. “Tell me?”

Bull snarled and thrust up his hips as best he could. Dorian stifled a gasp at the sudden pressure. “Just put it in,” he growled. “Then put another one in. Then put your cock in.”

Dorian laughed. “And you say I’m impatient,” he teased, but Bull was right—he _was_ impatient—so he slipped in one finger and started to stretch. He let himself fall back into motion with Bull, just moving and breathing together, the pace heightening, the air charged with an energy unlike any he’d ever experienced with magic. When Bull began to twitch impatiently, Dorian added a second finger.

“Mmmn, yeah. ‘s good, _kadan_.” Dorian flushed at the word, the praise. But he liked it. He eagerly worked in a third finger; Bull took it with just as much relish.

Bull hissed when Dorian withdrew his hand, drawing back slightly and checking on Bull’s bandaged wound. It was, miraculously, still intact, somewhat held in place by Bull’s bound left thigh. “Still good?” he asked, recalling how Bull would constantly check in with him when their roles were reversed.

“Yeah,” Bull said, breathing fast, bound chest heaving. “Good.”

Dorian watched his hands leave slick trails on Bull’s grey skin as he drew them down his chest. He’d be hard-pressed to describe how he felt as he looked at Bull, were he asked. Something like awe, wonder that he’d been allowed to have this. To be a part of this. He leaned down once again to press a kiss against that dark, sweating skin. _Kadan_.

He stooped back and ducked under Bull’s bound legs, propping them up and pushing him back gently further into the mound of pillows, moving slowly to give Bull time to adjust, or tell him to stop. Dorian stroked a hand up one thigh, and felt Bull’s body relax.

He entered Bull slowly, but the pace quickly built, syncing to the rhythm of their shared breath. Dorian gasped at first; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a man. He’d forgotten how good it felt. Though it was entirely possible, he supposed, that it had never felt quite as good as this.

As they moved together, Dorian touched every bit of skin he could reach, finding bumps and ridges he hadn’t yet discovered, learning the feel of this person—this strange, wonderful man who had somehow, suddenly and unexpectedly, become important to him.

“ _Amatus_ ,” he breathed, and he felt his gut try to clench, but he kept on breathing—this was different, this was good. This was right.

Bull grunted, uttered something Dorian didn’t catch, and came, jerking beneath him, slicking their bellies as they moved together. Dorian gasped, choking at the unexpected sensation on his cock. He rocked through the pressure, thrusting again, and again, until he couldn’t hold back his own orgasm and came, heat and slick enveloping his cock as he filled Bull with his come.

Dorian gasped, his chest pressed to Bull’s, skin tingling. His body felt limp—he gulped air, sobbing as though he’d forgotten how to breathe. Then he felt Bull’s chest heave beneath him. He sucked in a breath and held it, let it out as Bull’s chest sank again. In, and out. He breathed with Bull.

“Hey.” Dorian started out of a daze he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into. He pulled himself off Bull’s chest, blinking.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing around at the various knots he’d tied Bull into, somewhat at a loss as for what to do now.

“‘s all good,” Bull said. “But I might have you grab the knife for my leg, if you don’t mind.”

Dorian hissed, scrambling off of Bull and crossing over to the chest. Bull had only ever cut the ropes off him once; it had been entirely Dorian’s fault, of course—he’d been too wary of speaking up at the time, and had let Bull pull his arms up entirely too far. After suffering through increasing amounts of agony, Dorian had finally said something, only to put up with a stern, concerned lecture. 

The knife was clearly constructed for this specific purpose; it had a flat, blunt edge, and curved at the point so it could be slipped under the tight ropes without cutting the skin. Dorian braced Bull’s left leg and worked the knife under the ropes, easing it down gently once it was loose.

“Sorry,” Dorian said lamely, rubbing his hands over Bull’s knee as he lowered it to the bed. Bull shook his head.

“Nah, you did good,” he said. “It happens. Knife’s there for a reason.” Bull looked down at him and tipped his chin. “Think you can help me up and get my arms?”

Dorian laughed shakily. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

Together they managed to get Bull unbound, and before Dorian could begin to feel awkward, Bull pulled him against his chest and drew them both down into his nest of pillows. Dorian took a breath, and another, and allowed himself to relax into Bull’s embrace. It felt good. He let it feel good.

“So,” Bull said, his hand stroking up and down Dorian’s back. “ _Amatus_ , huh?”

Dorian winced, but heard the gentleness of Bull’s teasing, and blew back his defenses with a heavy sigh. “Must we discuss this now?”

“Nah. I guess I can give you some time with it. _Kadan_.”

Heat bloomed in Dorian’s chest.

“Thanks, by the way.”

Dorian looked up at Bull. He was gazing languidly at the ceiling. Dorian wouldn’t kid himself into thinking all of their problems were solved, that Bull was fine and all was well. But he certainly could say it was better. He sighed softly, sinking down into Bull’s strong softness. Of course Lavellan had been right.

“Anytime,” he said. And he meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing porn is hard, guys. This brings my total number of successful attempts to two (2). As an asexual, I am particularly proud of myself.
> 
> I am not personally into rope bondage, so I referred to [Twisted Monk](https://www.twistedmonk.com/pages/how-to-videos) for this piece! Dorian performs a bulldog harness with two leg-to-chest ties on the Iron Bull ☺
> 
> Title is (supposedly) ~~Latin~~ Tevene: "I trust you—you trust me."


End file.
